


You fill up my senses (come fill me again)

by Anonymous



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, I can't write dialogue lol, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, could be read as platonic or romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 15:15:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13526976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: McCree plays guitar.Gift for drivelings.





	You fill up my senses (come fill me again)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drivelings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drivelings/gifts).



> VT here. Since I couldn't send an entire fic through anon, I decided to post this anonymously on Ao3 as a gift. Hope you like it.
> 
> Here's Annie's Song if you want to listen while you read: https://youtu.be/RNOTF-znQyw

Winston brings in an acoustic guitar into the Watchpoint one day. It's good for morale, he said, handing it over to McCree’s custody. Mahogany back, Brazilian Rosewood bridge, a mix of nylon and steel strings. When he strums it, it makes a solid, forceful yet melodic sound, reverberating against the walls of the common room and unwittingly attracting attention. Perhaps the rest of the base was just as bored and anxious as he was having to lay low, and the novelty of a real-life instrument that wasn’t computer-simulated was a welcome distraction for them.

 

So he began to play.

 

At first, he tried some meandering tunes, strumming out meaningless chords merely to reacquaint himself with the instrument. Fingers shifting deftly, getting slightly sore due to the fading of old calluses. Then, he began to take requests from the small impromptu crowd that had gathered—some older songs, some modern tunes, often in accordance with the ages of their respective petitioners. Lucio would have him play some bars from some of his albums and EPs, while Reinhardt would insist on the classic tunes of Hasselhoff. McCree would accommodate as best he could, relying on muscle memory for familiar songs, and playing by ear for those that were new to him.

 

Some time into his performance, he noticed you come into the common room through the corner of his eye. You chose to stay a ways away from the group, far enough that nobody would engage you in conversation, but close enough to listen to him clearly. McCree left you to your own devices, knowing that you preferred your solitude, and continued serenading the crowd as he was. Once he finished the current song, he tipped his hat back, flashed everyone his usual charismatic smile, and inquired about the next request he should undertake.

 

To his surprise, he heard your voice ringing loud and clear from across the room.

 

_Annie's Song_ , you said simply, arms crossed, leaning against the far wall. Is that the hint of a wry smile on your lips?

 

The small shock of actually hearing you engage in any sort of conversation, albeit indirectly, made him freeze for a couple of seconds, before he remembered his current position as the center of attention. Smoothly shifting back into an entertainer persona, he acknowledged your request with a charming, flirty quip, shrugged his shoulders when you predictably didn't react, and started playing.

 

As unexpected as it was for you to actually request a song, more unexpected still was that you were familiar with an old country song that was probably a century old by then, give or take a few years. McCree was familiar with it only because of his inordinate fondness for all things country (and perhaps because of the relative familiarity of New Mexico, as much as he doesn't want to remember). How did you come to know of it? Still, he wasn't going to turn down an excuse to play something more his speed. He was grateful to you for that, whether it was intentional on your part or not. He was enjoying himself enough to actually sing along fully instead of inconstantly humming with the chorus for once.

 

However, as he continued playing, he began to notice a change in your stoic demeanor. You haven't moved from your position or changed your pose, but your shoulders were a bit more hunched up, and your head was down. Looking closer, you seemed to be biting your lip. As he sang the second chorus, he observed a slight tremor going through your frame. When he noticed a slight sheen to what little of your cheeks he could see with your head bowed, he was disturbed enough to actually mess up a chord shift. Were you... _crying_?

 

Part of him considered stopping. What if the song was upsetting you? Then again, you did ask for him to play it. Maybe stopping would make you feel worse. Feeling conflicted, he decided it was best to continue, since it would probably bring undue attention to you if he suddenly ceased playing your request out of the blue. Still, he carefully observed your reactions out of concern, playing it off nonchalantly so as not to bring attention to you by his staring. Towards the end of the song, you tilted your head upwards, resting the back of your head gently against the cool steel behind you, and closed your eyes. From this angle, McCree could now conclusively ascertain the presence of tear tracks trailing down the sides of your face.

 

He concluded his performance to enthusiastic applause by the agents present. Some of the more musically-inclined members inquired about the song, while others merely expressed their enchantment at his playing. Snider ones still expressed mock surprise that he can do more than shoot a gun, to which he retorted with a quip of his own. _The song suits you_ , Captain Amari teased in her familiar matronly way (he missed that during the time he was off on his own), the hint of a joke towards his inclinations having not gone unnoticed.

 

You were still leaning against the wall, head upturned, deep in thought. McCree had a feeling that while you may be physically here, your mind was far, far away, across seas, across mountains—perhaps across time.

 

He made an effort to keep all eyes on him, and off of you.

 

When you made to leave the room, he relaxed his efforts to maintain everyone's attention. Eventually, the group dispersed to return to their own tasks and activities, sated by the pleasant distraction courtesy of one Jesse McCree. The next morning, he attempted to ask you about your involvement in yesterday's jam session, concern overriding his apprehension to talk to the second-most reclusive person on the base (one who could actually manage to  _evade Ana_ ), only to receive the most elusive responses anyone has ever gotten out of you to date. Eventually, unwilling to force you to dredge up painful memories, he dropped the subject and didn't ask you about it anymore.

 

Much later, when you come forward about your past to him on your own, he brings out the guitar and plays _Annie's Song_ for you once more.


End file.
